Desicions
by SingleShadow
Summary: Harry makes a desicion that wil ultimately change his life and the lives of those around him. Whether or not it will change Voldemort's life too remains to be discovered. Ginny/Harry. M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own none of J.K Rowling's amazing characters or plots.

Harry P.O.V.

If I don't walk away now, I never will.

_ There is no true desire in my life except the desire to love, and to be loved, by those surrounding me._

The total lack of affection in my younger life has refined my receptivity to human emotions, as well as my interpretation of them. Right now, in this small, oak-panel room, Ginny's own desire is intoxicating me. Her eyes are half closed, and I know she is desperate to believe that here and now, she loves me; that here and now, she wants to make love to me. She is good at convincing herself to believe, being the sort of girl often so vividly immersed in the surrealism of her imaginations. She is prone to losing track of her actual life.

Right now, it is her hormones running crazy, pushing her deeper into the sweet fathoms of a teenage crush. We have been nurturing our tender relationship for about three months. As the time wears on, I become more and more certain that I really love Ginny and that my feelings for her are not just some feathery adolescent fancy. And that is where we differ. Ginny - sweet, innocent Ginny - has never suffered. She has had the rightful protection in her childhood that anyone should expect and enjoys her existence as it comes. It is what I never had. The emotional deprivation of my own childhood, combined with the physical and mental stress of carrying Voldemort's scar, have led me to feel with a greater intensity. I take longer to adapt to change, and think on a deeper level than is probably natural. It is through this knowledge I can self-verify my love for Ginny. If I had my way, we would marry tomorrow. I am totally committed to her. Here lies the reason for my desperation to leave. I cannot, and will not, force a girl I love to commit at fifteen to one relationship for the rest of her life. Her desire stems from pity, which she finds romantic, and the euphoria of a first proper relationship.

With difficulty, I pull her away from my body. She smiles at me, misinterpreting my reasons for our disentanglement, and moves in to kiss me. Her lips are sweet and soft, which only makes things harder. Tears prickle my eyes as I find myself kissing her back, pulling her into my body. I release the tears; she won't see them in the dimmed light of the Room of Requirement, as I realize all of my fantasies about making love for the first time with Ginny must remain fantasies.

Ginny P.O.V

_ If we are going to have sex, _I pray, _let it be now._ The insides of my thighs are damp, and I can see from Harry's face that he is as aroused as I am, but he seems to be holding back. His eyes are tired, pained and wary. He isn't the one that should be worrying. He's legal. Strictly speaking, I shouldn't even be considering doing this for another year. In my stomach, a small apprehension butterfly makes itself known. I'm really horny. I'm also very nervous. During the Easter holidays, Fred and George walked in on me naked. The half an hour following their entrance was the most embarrassing half hour of my life. My irrepressibly evil twin brothers had glanced across at each other before divulging in a fully detailed sex education lesson, obviously gauging that I now looked and acted old enough to be warned about 'such pleasurable activities.' Surely my disgust when George had stripped down in order to demonstrate 'a perfect example of the male prostate' stemmed from the fact that he was my older brother, right? Wrong. That is utter crap. I'm just completely unaccustomed to a – it is hard to even say it in my head – a penis. And I am praying also that Harry will have a small one. To stop myself from further dwelling to the point of repulsion, I lean forward and kiss the perfect boy in front of me. Kissing is good. Kissing is safe, natural. I feel his hands pulling me closer to him, and I moan into his shoulder.

"Oh god, Ginny." Harry's voice is quiet. My hands work quickly on his shirt, fumbling unsuccessfully to pull it over his head. He starts kissing my neck and shoulders, pushing my cloak to one side, working through the thicker fabric of my shirt and jumper. I feel a rush of heat swell into my cheeks, and smile at my blush, for no reason whatsoever. Harry reaches out a hand and flicks a switch mounted on the gleaming oak panels. The lights, previously dimmed, brighten considerably, and I screw up my face to protect my eyes.

"What did you do that for?" I ask as my smile fades.

"Are we going to do this, Ginny?" I only fault in replying for a brief period of seconds. His expression is harder, like he has made up his mind about something.

"Yes…" I hope he won't catch the uncertainty. I want him, but surely my nervousness is to be expected?

'Are you sure?' I am very sure I want to make love with him, I am just not so sure I want to rush into it.

"I'm very sure about you." He averts his eyes briefly. What is he playing at? When he looks back at me again, they are so bright they are almost iridescent; the odd lighting in our private room enhancing them to a greater intensity. Do my eyes look like that?

"Then I want you to be able to see me properly…and I want to be able to see you." And just like that, I can see what he is getting at. In one sentence, I see his game, and I know in a split second that he has won it. He is testing my readiness. And in his eyes, I am not ready. I almost break down. I have to be ready. I want to be.

Harry P.O.V

Her stilting replies prove my assumptions correct. My reaction to the prediction is only to be expected, although I had hoped to be able to summon a little more pleasure. My theories verified, I plant a light kiss on Ginny's nose. I am not sad; I've made up my mind. Ginny is not ready for the commitment I am pressing, and I am not ready to go without it. I made my decision a while ago based on my own selfishness. The plan is simple. I can't be bothered to carry on with an unworthy existence. Ginny had been my reason for life for a while.

"Gin?" Gin. Ginny is my wine, my aphrodisiac, my addiction. She doesn't answer. She seems on the verge of tears. "Ginny, I'm going to the toilet, alright?" She nods tightly, but seems slightly more at ease. Perhaps she needs some time alone. I can't bring myself to say I'll be back soon.

Ginny P.O.V

He didn't mean to hurt me, I'm sure. He looked slightly sad when he left, but not reproachful, and I don't think I imagined the love in his eyes. I haven't really got a plan as such, and I'm hoping that Harry's toilet stop won't give me too much time to think about what I am doing; which happens to be sitting in the Room of Requirements in my underwear. I've substantially dimmed the fluorescent lighting again, despite Harry's requests. I'm not brave enough to sit in the brightness, preferring to wait in the protection of the semi-dark. Our specially formulated room is warm, but it does not prevent the involuntary shiver traversing my spine, nor the goose bumps that rise unbidden on my arms. I have to be confident when he walks in. I have to be ready. I think back to what Fred and George said, something at the end about guys getting turned on watching girls please themselves? It sounds disgusting but...enticing at the same time? Oh god, face it Ginny. It just sounds completely disgusting.

Harry P.O.V

My footsteps resound harshly on the marble floors as I place my feet deliberately, one in front of the other. As I walk, I shut off my mind to unwelcome thoughts about Ginny, who I know is probably still waiting for my return... _I hope I didn__'__t hurt her_... I can't afford to show any weakness, if I want any chance against my enemy. The potions lab, when I reach it, is harassed by the empty silence of unpopularity; desks smeared with dust pass by me in uneven rows, laden with the heavy textbooks students hate. Snape's office door squeals in protest against the pressure I exert on the hinges. Through the heavy wood, I hear a snarl in response to my entrance and smile sardonically to myself at the coming exchange.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape growls.

"Got any more original lines?" I'm pleased with my ability to throw light sarcasm straight back in his twisted face. My voice is strong, betraying no weakness at all. I am proving myself ready.

"Potter!" Snape cannot mask his surprise that it is me in his office, closing and locking the door behind me. I don't take my eyes off his. I don't want to waste my life at his hands. I hate him, but he is not the enemy I have set out to destroy or be destroyed by. I have one chance to make some difference. If I want to win this game, my strategy has to be flawless.

"How is your arm?" I keep my voice breezy, as though we are discussing trivialities. I see a puzzled frown battling against his usually unfathomable mask as his hand flicks up to his shoulder. "I'm thinking forearm actually. I know you've got some pretty hot stuff blacked in on that arm." It takes him a few seconds to catch on. This time the emotion threatening to wreak lines across his face is anger, paired with astonishment. He struggles to regain composure, flicking a black strand of grease back into its proper place on his head. He can't restrain from lightly tracing the Dark Mark I'm referring to.

"What do you want, Potter?" He speaks through his teeth. If the situation at hand was not serious, his manner of speech would have me laughing.

"Clever man like you might have guessed by now." This time, my perfect airy tones are strained, more forced, and I can see that he has noticed my discomfort. He gains the upper hand in our vocal battle for domination.

"Fancy me now, do we Potter? I always wondered if you were completely straight beneath that oh-so-perfect exterior." He smirks, waiting for my anger. I defy him, keeping it back.

"Actually, you aren't my type." _I love you Ginny_... "I prefer the snake-like, bald, grayish pallor, black tattered robe kind of guy." Once more, I steal onto a higher level, pushing ahead of my opposition and at the same time trying to underpin him. Throw him off guard. His next words are a bare whisper.

"You are asking for an audience with death itself?" What? What is he getting at? This isn't the way I had planned it. He sounds...upset. Or is he calling a bluff? I open my mouth to reply, but Snape cuts in again. "Well, I think that can be arranged." With an evidently practiced movement, Snape flicks his wrist, executing a perfect throw. Before I can defend myself, the object he has thrown embeds itself in the front of my shoulder.

"Ah!" I gasp at the pain and feel the dart's contents spread through my veins.

_ Ginny...I love you so much._

A tranquilizer dart, loaded and highly potent.

_ If I die, Ginny..._

As I lose consciousness and the world spins and blurs about me, I recognize its single other property: Snape's snide little dart is also a port key.

_ I love you._

Ginny P.O.V

I lie on the floor and cry, feeling completely wretched. I can't be bothered to put my robes back on, and lie in my underwear. My panties are wet through and feel sticky against my skin, as does my hair, which is slick with tears. My bra is translucent, my sweat and the odd smears of dirt my boots left on the floor turning it a mucky pink. Harry left half an hour ago. I can't believe I fell for him, the way he made me feel so completely wanted; before unceremoniously retarding me, just because I wasn't quite mentally ready to have sex with him. He even lied about going to the loo. He's probably hidden down some decrepit passageway banging Cho Chang right now. That could have been me, although I don't know why I wish it was now. I even went all out on trying to make myself ready for what he wanted. I got so jumped up on my hormones that I was at one point desperate for him to return. My hands are clammily damp, from the same liquid covering my legs. I don't even really know what the liquid is, only that it feels dirty too. Even though my virginity is thankfully intact, I feel as though part of my childhood is lost for good, and I am no longer completely innocent. The worst part is that my body is still a live wire of sexual tension, buzzing with a kind of hormonal electricity that starkly contrasts with the heaviness of my anger and the emotional crisis dominating my head. I feel like some kind of prostitute; I want fast, physical release and soft, gentle comfort both at the same time. Even my body is betraying me. A spider scuttles across the floor and I scream, breaking into renewed hysterics. The door to the Room of Requirements conveniently opens into a disused storeroom, and I fling myself through it, forgetting my uniform. The door to the Room of Requirements vanishes, and I feel the last little part of our relationship disappear with it. Even though I hate him now, losing this last small glimmer of familiarity ruins me, and I bang my hands on the wall where the door was, vision blurred by the tears flooding down my face.

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome ;) I'__ll update whenever I get the time._


	2. Chapter 2

**_Disclaimer: May J. K. Rowling's characters, themes and plots remain forever hers _****_J_**

_Huge thanks to all of the amazing people that are following this!_

Hermione P.O.V

I gently stroke Crookshanks' brown blonde fur, tracing the darker stripes along his back. I get a long, contented purr for my trouble. Idly, I wonder where exactly Harry is, and whether I'll see him before dinner. He is spending time with Ginny again, probably locked away in the room of requirements. They have been gone for just under an hour, which is unusual; generally, they don't risk spending much more than half that time away from the common room in the evenings. I have to admit, I'm jealous of their relationship. Ron and I aren't getting anywhere. I haven't even got solid proof he's interested in me yet. My eyes are drawn to his hair. I adore the colour of his hair – red gold, paler than his sister's. Similar colours dance in the fire, which is responding well to the generous amount of 'Weasley's Wonder Powder' Ron threw into it, the flames flickering in a myriad of unusual colours at varying heights. I turn slightly to watch him, observing his tense posture and the concentration so visible in his eyes. His arm is stretched slightly forward, and between his thumb and forefinger is the tail of Scabbers, his rat. The rat is furiously peddling its legs, desperately trying to run away from the danger it imagines in my cat. Crookshanks turns his head disdainfully, uninterested in the semi-emaciated rodent.

'Ron?' I ask gently. My voice cracks into his attention, and he turns his head quickly to look at me.

'What?' He snaps back. He sees the hurt in my confusion and speaks again, far more gently. 'I'm sorry Hermione.' He doesn't need to re-voice his worry. I know what he is worrying about, because he's been on about it since Harry and Ginny left, but I can't understand why he's so worked up. He speaks again, a bare whisper as he stares back into the spitting hearth. 'They should be back by now.'

'I know. I was thinking the same. Harry's usually really careful when Snape's on patrol.' This isn't actually what's worrying Ron, but I'm hoping he might start ranting about our Most Hated Teacher and give me a break from hearing about his sister's relationship with my other best friend.

'I don't care about patrols!' He raises his voice again. 'I don't give a shit about Snape either; I just want to know what my only bloody sister is doing!' In his frustration, he lets go of Scabbers, and quickly reaches forward to snatch him up again. He roughly strokes the top of the rat's head, but absentmindedly rubs the fur the wrong way. Luckily, the hair there is scrubby, and Ron's pet doesn't seem to notice.

'Ginny can take care of herself, Ron.' I try and keep my voice soft.

'She doesn't know what she's doing. She doesn't. She can't. She isn't ready.'

'She knows that. More importantly, he knows that, Ron.'

'That wouldn't stop him if things...got going.' Ron sounds really bitter.

'Why don't you trust him?'

''Cos I know what it's like to be living in a sixteen year old boy's head, godammit!' We lapse into an uncomfortable silence uncommon for our relationship. I try to break the tense atmosphere by changing the subject.

'I've got a book to pick up from the library. Are you coming?' Hopefully he won't. He really needs time to cool off.

'No.' He turns back to the fire. My subject change has done nothing to lighten the mood. I push the protesting Crookshanks off my legs, and he lands in a disgruntled heap on the floor; which sends poor Scabbers into hyper-drive. I gently take the rat from Ron's grip, securing it in its cage. My fingers brush past Ron's, and I blush, hurriedly turning away. As I leave the common room, I notice the Fat Lady wailing about something again, but I don't bother indulging her melodramatics anymore, and ignore her.

I start by taking the easy route, quickly passing the numerous labs, but stop when I see the huge figures of Crabbe and Goyle up ahead. They are stood still, as if on guard, and in their hands are piles of sticky cakes. Malfoy doesn't appear to be there, though I don't doubt that he's close, maybe skulking behind the massive forms of his bodyguards. It's getting late, and I can't be bothered to put up with any of his usual crap, so I turn left up a small staircase, intending to loop around the Slytherins.

The stairs are of dark wood, each tread worn smooth by the numerous feet that have passed up and down it. It is old enough to be tired of changing, and it only mutters a defeated creak as I make my way up, having committed to the position it is in already. No one really comes up here; even Filch doesn't bother lingering in the dismal lighting. It is not really an unpleasant area, being tastefully decorated with paintings, but it lacks the vibrant life of the rest of the school, and people are not attracted to it. Students prefer to take the more lively passageways. There used to be rumours that the dead air was literally dead air. That someone died down here. A girl, they say, with wavy brown hair. Mind you, it is always a girl in rumours like those. I shudder, and walk slightly faster than before. Not usually a superstitious person, the knowledge of Voldemort's return to power has recently been making me edgy.

_He can't get into the castle, Hermione._

I desperately remind myself. Butthe rumours still say it was Tom Riddle who killed a girl down here_. _And it is putting me seriously on edge.

_A young, mud-blood girl, just like you._

I start to wish Ron had come with me, and miss his warm presence and solid body. The passage is long, and I can almost hear crying echoing faintly through it

Calm down. You're being stupid.

_Voldemort HATES mud-bloods, everyone knows that. There is no one to stop him up here. You're on your own._

And then screaming, grunting, moaning. I start to walk even faster now, verging on the edge of a run, but the noises fail to cease, and if anything increase in volume. They remain slightly muffled but get louder as I run, as best I can with a satchel, down the passage, before peaking as I pass a solid, densely grained storeroom door. Stopping short, I hear a voice, although I can't tell if this is in response to the sound of my shoes or not. They are soft soled and pretty quiet. My heart runs wild; I try and convince myself I'm imagining things, that the rumours are simply rumours, and nothing else. I calm down as I hear two student voices behind the door. I know Voldemort's voice in all forms, and I can be sure it isn't his, it's too low, and too...attractive? But whose is it?

'Shut up, stupid bitch! Someone will hear!' I have strain to hear the words, and my heart beats faster. I can't make out whose voice it is...I need to hear it properly...but I'm sure I recognise it. Quiet sobs start up again from another person in the room; a girl, crying. I start to walk away at steady pace, desperate to know what is happening in the room. The girl sounds distressed. I hear a scream of pain, followed by the rough grunts again, and I freeze.

It is the girl in pain, I'm absolutely sure now. And I'm also very sure that it is the boy causing her pain.

_'That wouldn't stop him if things got going.'_

No.

It can't be, surely?

And yet what better place for their room of requirements?

I can't, won't believe it. But I have to check, because I am so worked up, I cannot walk away from this door without knowing what is going on behind it.

But it won't be. I know him better than that.

_'That wouldn't stop him if things got going.'_

I slip out of my shoes and steal back along the passage. The handle is a simple, average handle, but my shaking hands find it almost impossible to open. Making as little noise as possible, I manage to get the handle down, and push the door, which is not locked. No one comes up here. It doesn't need to be.

What will I do to stop him, if it is who I think it is? Pull him away? Will that cause her more pain? Hexes boil into my mind like lava.

Breathe, Hermione. Keep control.

The door gives, and swings inwards silently to reveal a dilapidated storeroom. Cobwebs mask the forgotten furniture, but the gentle yellow light is strong enough for me to clearly distinguish the two figures.

And I'm right in my assumption. But I can't be. I can't be.

Yet I am. Ginny, pinned on the floor, by _that boy_, whose back is toward me, her eyes screwed up, screaming as best as she can with a crude gag tied across her mouth, crying. Her bra has been pulled down around her ribs, and she wears nothing else that I can see. Her legs are spread over the boy's shoulders, and I can tell she is in terrible pain from the way her fists clench. Her arms are being held above her head to prevent her from striking out, and they look weak and fragile. It doesn't take me long to figure that she is gaining some kind of deranged pleasure too though; from the way she half moves her body with his. She is desperately trying to stop this reaction, but I can tell she is finding it impossible. And that, more than anything, is what would terrify me most were I in her position. It would horrify me that, despite the fear, revulsion and pain, my body couldn't help but yearn for release. I know it would tear me apart. For a few seconds, I stand and shake, horrified. Neither of them has noticed me yet.

'Stop!' A strangled half cry scrapes up my throat as I voice the words Ginny is desperate to say. She opens her eyes and sees me, and they are over flowing with gratefulness for my presence in such quantities that for a moment, I am shot through with pity. Then I swing into motion, because the boy turns round.

Potter. Harry Bastard Potter.

And that is when I see his face properly. It isn't Harry. Firstly, I am relieved. And then, I am so furious, I scream like an animal.

Malfoy. Draco Bastard Malfoy.

Malfoy P.O.V

It's the mud-blood Granger girl. How the hell she found us is a mystery to me. My father is not going to be pleased if he hears about this. I wonder quickly what to do, and move the hand gripping Weasely's thigh down to the wand shoved jauntily into my trousers. Ruddy purple bruise marks flush across the ginger's pale skin, as if in tribute to the in memory of my presence. It's quite attractive, her skin, actually. In fact, the girl is rather pretty. Not that I'm interested. She's a Weasley. More to the point, I'm a Malfoy. But she is pretty. She isn't a carrot ginger like her thick brothers, but a deeper russet red, like browning autumn leaves. But of course, I'm not interested. Granger screams madly, a sound no pure-blood would ever be capable of, or wish to be, and I catch a slight movement as her hand too goes to her wand. It's probably cheap. Fury is making her bold, but her movements are hindered by the weight of her emotions. Her eyes are writhing with rage, as though live serpents twist in their depths. My own dexterity is evenly matched with hers in dimness, but not because I'm angry. I never let _my_ emotions influence my behaviour. No, it is because my concentration is currently split between the little virgin red-head I'm shagging, and the stupid brunette in the doorway who is putting my education at risk.

'Get out!' I hiss. I need to threaten her. Easy; threats are second nature to me. 'Get out, and I won't tell my father!' I watch her face and wait for her to leave.

'You wouldn't tell him anyway. What would he say if he found out that his perfect pureblood clone gets his kicks from raping Weasleys?' She spits back.

'Rape now, is it?' I sneer. She looks taken aback.

'What? Of course it's rape! Get away from her, Malfoy. I don't know what you're playing at, but when Ron finds out...'

'He'll be puking slugs for yet another hour I suppose.' I refer snidely back to our second year at Hogwarts when Weasley's wand had back fired his 'eat slugs' spell. He probably doesn't know how to use any good hexes.

'I'll...I'll tell Dumbledore! You'll be expelled!' She takes another step closer.

'My father will kill him if he expels me.' Ginny, who has made no part in our exchange so far, speaks up weakly.

'Please! Stop!' She whimpers. She sounds so pitiful. I look down at her with a disdainful Malfoy smirk written across my face, but fail to keep the expression fixed when I see how weak and young she looks. Her pale skin is dirty and scratched, and her hair is matted with tangles. There are bruises on her wrists, arms, thighs, and breasts from my hands, and from the numerous bumps into the walls and furniture. Excessive crying has left her eyes red, and the brown irises swim and blur behind even more tears. I turn away; I can't let her get to me. I've already had my release, so I pull out of her quickly, and re-zip my trousers. A small amount of blood seeps across her legs, which remain open when I shove them away from my shoulders. She doesn't even have the strength to cover her dignity, although I don't suppose she has any now. For a second, I feel like covering her with my cloak or something...but instead, I shake my head roughly, regaining control. _You're getting soft, Draco... _I tell myself tersely. I can't show weakness. So, just to let us all know who is in control, I do one more thing to hurt Ginny Weasley. Really hurt her - strip her of self value and display to her the betrayal of body to mind. I graze a thumb across her nipples, and watch her reduce into a sobbing wreck as she feels them harden. Then I stand quickly, keeping the smile on my face as best I can, and turn on my heel, billowing out of the room. At the end of the passage, I stop and listen.

'Oh God, Hermione,' sobs Ginny, her voice trembling terribly, 'I'm ruined. What...what will H-Harry s-say. I hate us both s-so m-much. What will my b-b-brothers say?' She wails. 'I've n-never felt so terrible in my whole life.' Her voice cracks. 'H-Hermione, it hurts so much. Everything hurts.' Weasley screams into Granger's shoulder, her body wracked with tears. I hear Granger comforting her. 'I f-feel like garbage.'

_Funny._ I think. I don't feel all that hot either.

But nobody needs to know.

**_Thanks for reading! This was quite hard to write actually, so reviews would be welcome. Hopefully I'll write the next chapter sometime this week, but I'm really busy at the moment._**


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